


say it soft (and it's almost like praying)

by pinkgrapefruit



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: It spills from his lips like a promise on a Sunday night, saccharine sweet and terrifying.(or, the first time each says i love you, and the first time they hear it)





	say it soft (and it's almost like praying)

**Author's Note:**

> i bring you more fluffff, thanks to two of my favourite people for reading and betaing! Linda and Frey - i love you both. Enjoy this!

_1._

_[Brooke]_

 

It spills from his lips like a promise on a Sunday night, saccharine sweet and terrifying. Like the words to his favourite song when he’s alone in a car - the open road stretched ahead like his future. It’s as easy as a grand jeté, as long as you start in first position, let your leg brush through till it reaches parallel, listen to the audience clapping beyond the dim abyss of theatre lights.

 

It’s a rough evening from the very beginning, an unhappy crowd and an inconsiderate uber driver and when they finally get home, Brooke has to half-carry Vanessa into bed. He’s exhausted, bless him, and the taller man can’t help but soften his steely exterior when he sees his boyfriend cuddled up in the comforter. He cocoons himself in it as if it was a safety blanket, like it would stop whatever bad things could come for him in the night. Once Brooke’s tidied the costumes and hair away (and found the Pajama bottoms he keeps in one of Vanessa's draws), he is almost regretful to pull the duvet out from the shorter man’s grasp. Luckily, he is dating a koala and the change is barely noticed as his soft skin presses against the warmth of Brooke's torso instead of thin fabric.

 

It had been a learning curve since they first shared a bed. The Canadian had always prefered sleeping alone, his long limbs used to spreading out. It would take him a while to recharge after spending the day with other human beings and sleep provided that much needed alone time. That being said, Vanessa had very quickly been established as a cuddler (and also a human heater). His legs were only short and he clung like a limpet to whoever he was lying next to, so it was less of a _‘there's another person in the bed’_ and more of an _‘I just need an extra foot on one side of my body to account for my boyfriend; the human equivalent of a slow loris’._ Brooke could work with that.

 

He presses his face into the stubble of his lover's head, lets his cologne mix with the smell of shampoo until all he smells is Vanessa. If he closes his eyes, he can almost picture they are anywhere else but here.

  


He inhales his scent and exhales an “I love you.”

 

Nobody needs to hear it. Nobody does.

 

_2._

_[Vanessa]_

 

He stutters it, somewhere between noon and lunchtime, when the beer - his kind of aperitif - has settled and his mouth waters for a good burger. He mutters it as Brooke is leaving for a cigarette, they’re almost ready to head out for a meal but he needs a smoke first.

 

Vanessa learnt to accept the cigarettes like one accepts climate change - you know it’s coming and you know you should stop it but you haven’t got a clue where to start other than recycling and prayers. He prays to lord almighty that he will stop smelling smoke on Brooke's shirts one of those days, that the flames will die before he gets cancer or emphysema or something like that. He doesn’t need to lose another person.

  


So he moves on, lets Brooke keep a pack in his bedside table and doesn’t complain when he steps out at 2 am because of nightmares and anxiety. They all have their vices.

 

It’s been three months. It’s August and he’s in love but nobody knows. Except maybe A’keria - and Nina ‘cause she’s observant. He wants to scream it from the rooftops, whisper it into Brooke's ears, sing it to him with the club music at gigs. He wants to sigh it as he comes undone, let his man know exactly how much he cares.

 

Humans are fickle creatures. They come and go and no one really knows where they stand. So when Vanessa says a broken ‘I love you’ to Brooke through a glass door on a Saturday in August, nothing happens. Because humans are fickle, and she didn’t ask for anything else.

 

*

 

_1._

_[both the idiots]_

 

Brooke is a living embodiment of the saying _‘it won’t look good until it’s finished’._ He sits in his tucking panties and tights, colour corrector and eyeshadow on but not much else because _‘god I work too fast, I’ll have hours if I start now’._ His outfit is on the rack behind him, wig on the wig head and pot of swiss chalet sauce safely on the dresser in front, easily in a reaching distance but safely away from all clothing - there’s a story there, Vanessa is sure that he just needs to ask Courtney.

 

Vanessa is more of a _‘this is art all the way through’_ , kind of painter - that much is clear from the one-and-a-bit hours it takes him (compared to Brookes 20-ish minutes). He keeps his things neatly and orderly in front of him, his wig is somewhere, waiting to be brushed, and his outfit might still be in a bag because _‘I don’t wear shit that needs ironing’._ They make quite the pair.

 

They’re painting together for separate gigs because, in a way, it reminds them of where they started. It’s such a similar position to where they were just months ago, filming the top five episode - Brooke stood at a mirror, Vanessa to his left, both happy with where the relationship was heading, despite knowing where the night could take them.

 

Brooke sits back in his chair, lets the memories wash over him like the Tampa ocean - warm and calming. He turns to his left and watches his man paint for a little bit, the soothing sound of the brushes holding him down to Earth. Tilting his head to the side, he sighs causing Vanessa to turn a little.

 

“You okay boo?”

 

“You know I love you, right babe?”

 

“I love you too, now let me finish my eyeliner or shit’s going to go down.”

  
  


*

 

_1.5._

_[bonus]_

 

It’s been five years. They alternate gig nights, don’t work on Saturdays and always get ready at home - because that’s just life now. It’s 7 pm and Vanessa is just about to start painting when Brooke comes into the studio/office they’ve got with a tired smile and knowing look.

 

“She wouldn’t go to sleep unless she saw you,” He says, still smiling although now with a renewed vigour as Vanessa moves forward to reach for them.

 

“Aw baby girl,” He coos, watches the little blonde light up at the sound of his voice. He makes funny faces as she giggles and squirms in Brooke's strong grasp.

 

“I love you Allie baby,” he speaks, gently and deliberately, “Now let Papa put you to bed.”

 

Brooke leans over the baby to place a soft kiss on his husband's lips.

 

“I love you ‘Nessa.”

 

“I love you too bitch, now let me paint.”

 

_“José!”_

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it! if you've got any feedback/ constructive criticism you can catch me in the comments here or over on tumblr @pink-grapefruit-cafe. I love you all and your feedback truly motivates me to keep writing xx


End file.
